


Tangled

by danwriteskink



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Morning Cuddles, Morning Sex, Multi, PWP, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23856364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danwriteskink/pseuds/danwriteskink
Summary: Grace isn't sure exactly who is still in the bed, but she's too sleepy to count limbs right now.
Relationships: Harold Finch/Grace Hendricks/John Reese
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Tangled

The first thing Grace is aware of is the tangle of limbs pressed against hers. She's in the middle of the bed, half-asleep and deliciously warm, so she'll worry about untangling herself later. Right now she takes a deep, comfortable breath and nuzzles her face against the nearest source of body heat, which turns out to be Harold's thigh. 

"Good morning," he says, very softly. He's propped upright against the headboard, glasses on, at work already. He stops typing on his phone and looks down at her with a smile. "You look very comfortable." 

"Mm," Grace says, and kisses his hip, then nestles against him. "What time is it? Did John have to go out?" John often has to leave to help a number, and Grace isn't quite awake yet, isn't sure if he's gone. 

Harold shakes his head and points over Grace's shoulder, then presses his finger to his lips. 

Grace twists, looks behind her, and sees John splayed out on the bed, face down and half-hidden under one of the pillows. She almost laughs at how ridiculously askew his body is, with one foot hanging out into empty air and the other pressed against Grace's calf. His back rises and falls with easy, slow breaths, and while she's not sure if he's actually asleep or just resting peacefully, it's nice to see him so relaxed. 

Harold smiles, brushes his hand over Grace's hair, his knuckles over her cheek, then goes back to typing on his phone. 

Grace flops back down onto the mattress, lying on her side so she can watch John sleeping, or not sleeping, or whatever it is he's doing with his head under the pillow. She has a horrible urge to pounce on him, the same terrible need she sometimes has to let out a piercing scream in a silent gallery, that strange temptation to shatter something perfect and still. She would never actually do that to poor John; she knows how much that startle reflex costs him. Instead, she shimmies up close to him, and lifts up the edge of the pillow to look at him. 

His face is mostly pressed down against the sheet, but she sees one blue eye open, watching her through eyelashes. 

"Hey there," Grace says, delighting in his presence, in his awareness and his sense of humour, in all the things he has let her see and love. 

John takes a deep breath and stretches like a cat, long and fluid, right across the length of their enormous bed. Grace hears joints pop, hears stubble scratch across the sheet. She puts a hand on his back to feel the muscles move under his skin as he flexes and settles into a different position. When he finishes, he's lying on his side too, facing her. 

"Hey," he says, and his face is as full of joy as Grace is feeling. "Were you thinking of doing something terrible to me before?" Then he smirks at his own innuendo, silly as it is. 

Grace loves him so much. "I would never!" she says, then immediately pounces. 

She's not fast enough. Of course she's not fast enough. John is totally prepared for her, catches her and flips her onto her back with a bounce that surely jostled Harold's phone.

Holding himself above her, John kisses his way down between her breasts with loud, comedic smacks while she shrieks and laughs, bats at him gently with both hands. Then the warmth of his mouth reminds her of how good it is when he's inside her, how his face looks, and the sounds he makes. She wraps her legs around his hips, urges him back up to kiss her properly. 

John kisses her deep and slow. He's hard against her thigh as they move gently, easing into the familiar pattern of lovemaking that has become a morning habit whenever they get the chance. This is so good, this is almost perfect. All they need is… Grace glances over and sees Harold still hunched over his phone. 

She reaches across to snag at Harold's sleeve, tugging it insistently. 

"Hm?" he says, and looks over towards them. "Oh," he says. "I see…" 

He actually looks back at his phone for a moment, and Grace is outraged, that he would ignore the astounding spectacle of John's beautiful shoulders curving up over her body, his back long and lean. Then John lifts her hips so he can slip easily inside. She lets go of Harold, physically and mentally, and concentrate on how he fills her, how strong and hard he is, how much she wants him. 

John is so good at this, knows her body so well now, slides into her deep and fast. She moans against his mouth, and suddenly the mood changes from frivolous and light to intense. They're fucking in earnest when Harold appears at John's shoulder, kissing along it, lavishing attention on the nape of his neck. John exhales hard against Grace's mouth, and Grace knows Harold just used his teeth somewhere tender. 

Perfect. It's perfect: Harold does his best to make amends for his absence, and slips a hand between their bellies, reaching for Grace's clit, stroking it with the exact pressure she loves. John moves from kissing Grace to kissing Harold, and because he's unnaturally talented, he never breaks pace, keeps driving into her, breathing hard with exertion. 

Grace comes with both of them touching her, both bringing her to pleasure with relentless, loving precision. She's barely back in her own body, still has electric shocks rippling over her skin when John gasps and buries his face against her neck, rhythm finally stuttering. Harold is fingering him while he's still inside Grace, and Grace wraps her arms tight around John's chest, kisses him, squeezes down on his cock until he's coming too. John rests there a moment, catching his breath, then he scoops his arm around Grace and leans them both against Harold's body. 

For someone who arrived late to the party, Harold is unreasonably smug. He kisses the flat plane of John's shoulder, leaning down as far as he can manage without pain to press his lips to Grace's forehead. 

"Oh, you're so pleased with yourself," Grace says, but she's too relaxed to muster the faux-outraged tone she thinks Harold deserves. John, meanwhile, is slipping back to sleep, the way he does when he's given his all. 

Harold gestures towards John. "I'm not hearing any complaints," he says. Then he strokes John's short hair. "Ah," he says, as his hand comes away damp with sweat. "I suppose a shower is next on the docket." 

John makes an incoherent noise and curls his arms around Harold's waist, effectively trapping him in place. Harold gives his shoulder a gentle shake, and John buries his face deeper against Harold's thigh. John gets like this sometimes, Grace knows, and it means he's as relaxed as he ever gets, deeply asleep after physical exertion. Harold looks down on him with fond but frustrated affection and Grace laughs. 

"It looks like you're trapped," she says, and wriggles out from the tangle of legs and sheets. "Maybe you can wake Sleeping Beauty with a kiss." She leans on the bathroom door, then gives Harold an innocent smile. "You've got your phone. Catch up on some work." 

She's still laughing when she turns on the shower and steps inside.


End file.
